Cleveland is practically irrelevant to the Rams' history. Nobody cares about when they were playing against the Boston Yanks at a high school field. For all intents and purposes, they're an old Los Angeles team that got booted out to St. Louis against the league's wishes but finally went back. Everything they do, visually speaking, should be in service of righting the wrong of that St. Louis relocation and retaking their place as the NFL team in the second-largest city in America, which dictates a level of seriousness that mid-to-small-market teams don't have to (and shouldn't) observe. Between segmenting the ram horn to suggest ocean waves and honor the Fibonacci sequence or something, proprietary-font numbers, a gradient on said numbers, vaporwave striping in the gradient, off-white in place of regular white except when it's not in place of regular white, and patches with contrasting stitching to evoke streetwear, there are too many ideas going on at once for one uniform. I didn't even get to how there are two versions of the script depending on whether or not the city name is included. Their peers along sport and market axes are the Lakers, Dodgers, Giants, and Bears, and their identity should fit comfortably among those.
The Bengals looked their best when they didn't get carried away: the helmet and the tiger-striped inserts on the jerseys and pants were enough that the rest of the set was conservative: black/orange/white, block numbers, no shoulder yokes or white tiger tummies on the sides. The Bengals didn't even paint midfield and the endzones at Riverfront Stadium (though that may not have been so much about balanced minimalism as the fact that it cost money).